


Artemis has nothing on you

by Hewt



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Artemis is Gay, F/F, Femslash, Mild Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hewt/pseuds/Hewt
Summary: Kyra compares Kassandra to Artemis.Kassandra doesn't agree, but it's not like that really matters, is it?





	Artemis has nothing on you

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of a drabble, have been wanting to write some Kassandra stuff for a while now. Really enjoyed the Kyra/Kassandra romance, and I was in the mood... so...
> 
> Here goes!

“Have you ever lain with a goddess?” Kyra asks, and it’s innocent enough. She’s not the kind of woman to get jealous, whereas she most definitely is the kind of woman who gets curious.

Kassandra hums, wraps her arms around Kyra’s waist and leans in to kiss her shoulder, the tanned skin warm underneath her lips and the small scatter of freckles that resided there tempting her to trace them all the way to… more excitable places.

“I have one in my bed right now,” Kassandra says, and it’s true. Kyra knows it’s true too; she chuckles, smiles, is flattered.

“Says you.” She turns around in Kassandra’s embrace, huffs and struggles when Kassandra gives her very little room to manoeuvre around in. “Impossible misthios,” she mutters, but it’s said with a fondness that makes Kassandra feel warm. “But truthfully, have you ever?”

Kassandra ponders, thinks of Daphnae for a brief moment; she was quite sure that woman had lain with a goddess before, surely Artemis’s preferences were mostly noticeable among her closest followers… But she? No. All the women she had been with had been eager and fair and fun, but they had all been very real indeed. Vulnerable flesh and blood that could give so easily to the blades of her daggers, to the raw power of her fists.

“No.”

“How they will weep for what they are missing out on, then,” Kyra replies, buries her nails into Kassandra’s forearms and pries them away from her waist, climbs on top of Kassandra’s thighs and gets comfortable before releasing her hold and allowing Kassandra’s eager hands to return to the softness of her lower back. Only, they drift lower now, settle on her ass and stay there. For support, of course.

“I doubt it,” Kassandra says, a bit breathlessly. She is a mere mortal, no matter what the rumours might try to claim otherwise, and she is weak under the gaze of women, even more so when confronted with the promise that glistens in Kyra’s brown eyes.

Kyra wants to say something else, but she can’t; the hungry lips of Kassandra have claimed hers, the kiss rough and full of want and lust, and as Kassandra’s oh so skilled fingers brush through her curls and slip into the warm wetness that has been pooling between her thighs, the comparisons between the divine and her lover are stored away to bring up another time.

-

“Do you thinks she enjoys the company of women?”

“Who…?” Kassandra mumbles, her cheeks full of fig and her brows creased with confusion. Her tone is ambiguous. Who does Kyra think enjoys the company of women? Also, who would not?

“The virgin goddess.”

“Why do you always return with these questions when you go to the temple? Is there something I should know about? I did not know praying included sexual revelations. If I had, I might have attended more often,” Kassandra says, swallowing her mouthful only after she has spoken and quickly popping another honeyed fig into her mouth.

Kassandra is surprisingly fond of sweetness. Kyra likes to tease her about growing pudgy from the sugar, even though her stomach gains more definition by the day.

“You are missing out,” Kyra agrees. “The High Priestesses are quite the sight to behold, bent over and praying in the nude.”

Kassandra narrows her eyes at her, chews thoughtfully. “Liar,” she decides, and, victorious, treats herself to yet another fig.

“Yes, but it’s hard to not think about such things when you are… who you are.”

“Eloquent,” Kassandra nods. She finishes the fig and seems to be considering another one, but then reaches for some cheese instead. She whistles and holds it low, waiting patiently until the dog waddles up to her and takes it from her fingers with a messy, eager tongue. The dog is getting old, greying around the muzzle, growing fat on cheese and lack of hunting trips, but Kyra and Kassandra are both fond of him.

Kyra smiles as the dog lowers himself between their feet, a great sigh escaping from deep within.

“You are like her, though, in every manner.”

“Am I? I always considered myself to be more of the likes of Ares. Seems like a much more fitting temperament.”

“You? A man? Not even in likeness,” Kyra tuts. Her chiton shifts as she moves, the fabric is pulled taut in certain places and too loose in others, crawling down one tanned shoulder as Kyra leans forward, bares half a breast for Kassandra’s eyes to feast on. She appreciates it when Kyra doesn’t bother to dress herself fully. She does have a slight preference for Kyra’s naked form.

“You are too attentive to be a man, too sharp of tongue, and yes, you are a ridiculously-sized woman with the grace of both a lion and the bumbling daftness of a draft horse, somehow, but you are a woman,” Kyra decides as she slides forward a little more, tests the edge of her stool to its full capacity. “Now, which goddess would I be?”

“Aphrodite, certainly. With such a golden touch and silver tongue? Who else?” Kassandra decides quickly. It’s not exactly something that desires a lot of pondering from her part. She has been on the receiving end of Kyra’s touches often enough to know whom Kyra would share a likeness with.

“I like that answer,” Kyra decides, slips her arms around Kassandra’s shoulders and herself into Kassandra’s lap. “Now, if you carry me upstairs I will show you with this Aphrodite can do to you?”

-

It’s a returning conversation within their relationship. Kassandra doesn’t care much about gods or goddesses. She paves her own way, both literally and figuratively, and she doesn’t expect anything from anyone. Kyra would not exactly place her faith in the divine in the highest levels, but she knows something is out there and she knows that the gods must exist, because how else could one explain the existence of someone like Kassandra?

It is on the days that Kassandra is gone, having set sail to some place or another where her help is needed, either for the sake of the Silver Islands or simply for her own, or having gone on a hunting trip somewhere on the islands that will take days to complete, where she sleeps under the stars and spends entire days alone with Phobos, that Kyra has to remind herself that Kassandra exists at all.

It is so easy to get lost in what has become her daily slur. The job of an Archon is not an easy one, nor one that is ever completed, and while she has help and is appreciated by her people, her days are long and tiring, and her time for personal thoughts very limited. Sometimes, when Kassandra is gone, she goes entire days without thinking about her misthios at all.

It bothers her, sometimes, which is why she keeps little pieces of Kassandra at home. Kassandra is the kind of person who does not put a lot of value into most possessions, so whatever limited things she has, she brings along with her whenever she leaves. She leaves the place empty, emptier than it should be, and devoid of her boisterous presence, of her bumping into furniture and talking to the dog, and servants, and horses, about nothing at all.

Sure, she leaves the dog, but that beast is as much Kyra’s as it is Kassandra’s, and she leaves Phobos, but that horse is a cranky thing, even when old age has yet to sour him. He has a preference in humans, and that preference is monotonous. Not that Kyra can blame him.

But she has kept little pieces of Kassandra around her, to remember her by. She has a set of fancy armour Kassandra only ever wears when accompanying Kyra when she is dealing with formal manners, the armour of a misthios who protects and keeps her mouth shut whenever Kyra talks and negotiates.

Kassandra left her a bow, too, a beautiful piece of art, and Kyra knows it might have been Artemis’s once.

She hunts with it, if she feels the itch, sends the dog to sniff out the fallen prey. It’s not the same, but alas, it is something.

-

“You look exhausted,” Kassandra says gently when they are finally alone. She was gone for months, securing trade routes and granting passage to some of Kyra’s guests, Barnabas at her side.

“You were gone a while,” Kyra replies, considers the contents of her goblet, the wine winking back at her red and rich and of high quality. They were supposed to share the amphora, but Kassandra declined. It doesn’t feel the same, when you are the only one drinking.

“The seas were angry,” Kassandra replies, shrugs, scratches at the wooden table. “Barnabas offered an entire flock to Poseidon and still he raged. Seems like they had a bit of a falling out, but Barnabas doesn’t want to talk about it. I think he may be embarrassed.”

It’s a bit awkward between them. It always is, somehow, when Kassandra returns. It’s like the void she left has given up the hope to be filled, and it’s strange to see her here. It’s strange that Kassandra is real. Kyra reaches out and touches her hand, entwines her fingers.

“It’s nothing like him, having such bad luck.” Kyra takes a sip of wine anyway, moves the liquid through her mouth. She finds little joy in the complex flavour of the wine, finds little appreciation in herself for the expertise. It’s a shame, and she shouldn’t be drinking it if she can’t appreciate it.

“Kyra...”

“I missed you. It’s been lonely. I always forget what it’s like to be lonely, until you are gone. You know this.”

“The dog’s been here.”

“He drools.”

“Praxos?”

“Oddly enough, he drools even more.”

Kassandra cracks half a smile. “I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

Kyra stares into the depths of the red wine and sighs. “I know.”

That night, Kassandra lets Kyra make love to her. She surrenders when Kyra pushes her back down after the second time she has tried to rise and take control, has tried to make this all about Kyra when Kyra wants it to be about Kassandra, wants and needs to feel and taste and smell her.

So, Kassandra surrenders without too many complaints, her fingers grasping at sheets and pillows and the bed, her strength kept carefully away from Kyra’s head as Kyra makes her way downward.

She circles Kassandra’s nipples with her tongue, enjoys the whispered curses that pour out under Kassandra’s breath. Kassandra’s skin is clean, her smell entirely her own, and it is such a wonderful sensation to have that powerful body underneath her, to trace her muscles with fingers and tongue and have them tremble underneath her touch, tremble for more and more and more.

This is her misthios, her divine entity, her lover, and both their bodies know that. The air is thick with arousal, the scent of Kassandra’s wetness filling her nostrils as she travels lower, passes over the curls near her sex and then dives between her folds.

“Fuck, Kyra,” Kassandra moans, and her thighs tense as Kyra pushes them apart further and then comply, muscles straining as she spreads as wide as she can, opens herself up to Kyra as she whines and moans and nearly screams encouragements.

Kyra reacquaints herself with this part of Kassandra, relishing the feeling of her wetness on her face as she buries herself there, her tongue circling Kassandra’s clit and her fingers digging into her thighs.

The first orgasm comes fast and easy, Kassandra is deprived of anything that aren’t her own fingers, and she has always responded well to Kyra’s face between her legs; once, even, the sight alone had made her gush and tremble.

“You never asked me if I have ever lain with a goddess,” Kyra says as she takes a short break, substituting her tongue for her fingers and enjoying the view as she strokes Kassandra’s soaked folds, waiting until the trembling and quaking has stopped before focussing on Kassandra’s clit once more.

“What?” Kassandra mumbles, not following the conversation at all, and, if the needy whine that escapes her is anything to go by, not exactly interested in conversing at all either.

“Because I have. You are the only goddess I need.” Her words are lost on Kassandra as that is the exact moment Kyra decides to plunge two fingers deep into Kassandra, earning herself a breathy, “Fuck!”


End file.
